Jeremy and Powder
by Nicholas de Vilance
Summary: /Powder One Shot/ When Jeremy was little, he always asked questions, even though he knew more about people than they knew about themselves.


Nicholas: This is a very short one-shot I wrote after watching the movie Powder. I thought about writing something that made a...I don't know...connection between Jeremy's names. The story begins with Jeremy when talking about how he began and ends with Powder when talking about how he'll go on. I normally love constructive criticism, but if you try any flame, whatsoever on this, I'll quit writing my stories, and then you'll have some very pissed off readers after you.

Rating: I think this'll have to be k because I said "pissed off" in the author's note...oops!

Disclaimer: Victor Salva owns this movie. He owns the characters. Sean Patrick Flanery did a stunning job as Power, and I hope you all realize by now that I am neither Victor Salva, nor Sean Patrick Flannery. Thank you, enjoy!

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Jeremy had always been a bright boy. No, not bright, shining. In more ways than one. His skin was as white a snow, from the day he was born and his eyes were unlike any that his father, grandfather or grandmother had seen. His father couldn't take it. Jeremy knew that. His father thought that Jeremy—his own son—was the ugliest thing he'd laid eyes on. "That's not my son," he'd said. Jeremy remembered.

"Grandma," the little boy said, tugging at his grandmother's shirt while she cooked dinner. "What's lightning?"

"You know what lightning is, Powder." They had given him the nickname with a good intention and he rather liked having a unique name that no one else called him. It was because of how pale he was, he knew that much. He was different, so he deserved a different name. "Lightning is what happens during storms."

"I know, but what causes it? Why does it effect things the way it does? It lights trees on fire, and it kills people. Why?"

Grandma Reed had to think long and hard to think up an answer to this one. She often had Jeremy standing beside him, asking questions. At first—when Jeremy first learned to form a question—it was easy to answer. Who is God? Why are my hands white? Things like that were easily answered with cute little statements and excuses. As he grew older, his critical thinking skyrocketed and his questions became a lot more complicated. "Lightning…it's fire. It's like white fire, sent from God to keep us on our toes."

Jeremy smiled a tiny, almost unnoticeable smile and rolled onto the heels of his feet. The answer was sufficient for the time being. "Was it God that took my mother away? When the lightning came, was it God that took her away?"

Mrs. Reed almost dropped her spoon into the pot, as she looked down at her grandson, very confused. "Did Grandpa tell you that, Powder?"

"No, I just…I just remember." The way she'd said it made Jeremy think that he was in trouble. He shrank back a little, his smile disappearing. "I'm sorry, Grandma." He suddenly was the quizzical, excited boy with an unrelenting stream of questions.

"Oh, no Child," Grandma Reed said, setting her spoon down and devoting her full attention to her grandson. "I'm not angry with you, boy." She smiled widely in that way that always made Jeremy feel some much better, no matter how down he was. He looked up at her slowly. "I'm just a little surprised. People tend to raise their voices when they're surprised or afraid."

"Are you afraid of me, Grams?"

Mrs. Reed just laughed quietly under her breath and went to the cupboard. "Set the table, Powder." She handed him a small stack of plates and urged him toward the dinning room.

"Grandma?" Grandma Reed had to turn back around just when she had returned to cooking dinner. "Can I have a hug?"

Her smile faltered for a moment, and she silently cursed herself for it. She looked at the little, white boy in front of her, staring up with pinkish, violet eyes and her old heart wrenched slightly. "I gotta finish dinner, child. When you finish setting the table, go find Grandpa, I'm pretty sure he has a hug waiting for you."

Jeremy didn't seem to mind. He tried not to mind. He knew how scared she was because he could feel it. He could hear it in his head—no, her head. He went to set the table, knowing full well why his grandparents wouldn't touch him anymore. He was different, and in being different he was frightening. The lightening came to him. The TV didn't work because of him. Jeremy knew why, but he couldn't even explain it to himself. He hadn't read the right book yet. Sooner or later he'd understand—everyone would understand—and he wouldn't have to be different or scary. He'd just be Powder.


End file.
